(no subject)
So I be sailin' the highspeed seas of DSL and boy, a difference it can make - fer better'r worse, mind ye. Been a'downloadin' all a'those patches I'da been avoidin'. Yargh. Everquest ho!
...I think pirate speak is a bit like brit speak for some of us. All it takes is one person to say something in it and the brain immediately switches over and emulates it. I've also noticed when that some people speak pirate, it's more of a very angsty Swedish Chef with a heavily forced iambic rhythm. Odd. Anywho, there's apparently another puppet slam on Saturday at Dad's Garage. Seems much sooner after the last one...then again, time's always been a bit funny for me. I do recall being a touch irritated last time I tried to make it down there and, well, drunken friends (whom I love dearly) delayed us just enough so that we arrived just as they sold out. If that I go, I'll probably just be a'goin' alone, yar. Seems about the only way to travel these days, say true, cry pardon.
Huddled this eve with David. Twas brillig and nice all wrapped up like a donkey. A little donkey, mind you, can ya say burrito? I miss David time. Though I can't say I missed the world of theatre "drama" (the offstage kind) which seems to linger in the air sort of like when someone goes overboard with the hairspray before a show when everyone else is trying to get ready. If you're going to spray, at least step outside; don't get me wrong, sometimes it's that good smelling stuff and you don't mind, but, well, nevermind. When analogies bleed into reality, listen for those todash chimes a ringin', can ya say God-BOMB? Though I understand why all of those old white guys who made up english literature devised the extended analogies - it's so much easier to gripe about a situation when it's wrapped up for Christmas. My own personal gifts, as much as I'd love to open them, would be better served with many bows and a sign reading, "Do Not Open Until Rapture." People.
On a personal note - those being allowed in a cap'n's log - I'm most assuredly conmused by a sense of...captivation. On some rare occasions, you come across someone with that bizarre and contagious energy that you find yourself unable to stop watching, to stop listening for even when you don't realize you're doing it. And for some reason unknown to the poets and philosophers alike, you tuck that feeling, that knowledge aside and grin whene'er fortune smiles enough to allow for something so small as a passing glance, eye to eye, to fill your day. Like some rich secret, half the pleasure is knowing that it's yours to know and no one else's. And you enjoy the allure because you know it's so much sweeter than the real thing could ever be.
...I think pirate speak is a bit like brit speak for some of us. All it takes is one person to say something in it and the brain immediately switches over and emulates it. I've also noticed when that some people speak pirate, it's more of a very angsty Swedish Chef with a heavily forced iambic rhythm. Odd. Anywho, there's apparently another puppet slam on Saturday at Dad's Garage. Seems much sooner after the last one...then again, time's always been a bit funny for me. I do recall being a touch irritated last time I tried to make it down there and, well, drunken friends (whom I love dearly) delayed us just enough so that we arrived just as they sold out. If that I go, I'll probably just be a'goin' alone, yar. Seems about the only way to travel these days, say true, cry pardon.
Huddled this eve with David. Twas brillig and nice all wrapped up like a donkey. A little donkey, mind you, can ya say burrito? I miss David time. Though I can't say I missed the world of theatre "drama" (the offstage kind) which seems to linger in the air sort of like when someone goes overboard with the hairspray before a show when everyone else is trying to get ready. If you're going to spray, at least step outside; don't get me wrong, sometimes it's that good smelling stuff and you don't mind, but, well, nevermind. When analogies bleed into reality, listen for those todash chimes a ringin', can ya say God-BOMB? Though I understand why all of those old white guys who made up english literature devised the extended analogies - it's so much easier to gripe about a situation when it's wrapped up for Christmas. My own personal gifts, as much as I'd love to open them, would be better served with many bows and a sign reading, "Do Not Open Until Rapture." People.
On a personal note - those being allowed in a cap'n's log - I'm most assuredly conmused by a sense of...captivation. On some rare occasions, you come across someone with that bizarre and contagious energy that you find yourself unable to stop watching, to stop listening for even when you don't realize you're doing it. And for some reason unknown to the poets and philosophers alike, you tuck that feeling, that knowledge aside and grin whene'er fortune smiles enough to allow for something so small as a passing glance, eye to eye, to fill your day. Like some rich secret, half the pleasure is knowing that it's yours to know and no one else's. And you enjoy the allure because you know it's so much sweeter than the real thing could ever be.